


Christmas Song

by xDx



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Shmoop, M/M, based on a Hallmark Channel movie, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:49:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2700200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xDx/pseuds/xDx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off a Hallmark Channel movie with the following description: Two music teachers face off in a Christmas-carol competition while also vying for a job after their schools — and music departments — merge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Song

**Author's Note:**

> I've never seen the movie this is loosely based off of (or, actually, I guess it's based off of the summary). Any similarities are pretty much purely coincidence. LOL Enjoy!

The library where the Beacon Hills Arts Academy was hosting its monthly staff meeting was already bustling by the time Stiles Stilinski shuffled in, bright and early on December 1st. He slouched into a chair, grabbed a donut, and threw his feet up onto the table as he sat back. Beside him Adrian Harris, the theatre director, snorted in disgust at his antics.

"Now that Mr. Stilinski has graced us with his presence, let's bring this meeting to order," Principal Victoria Argent announced, standing stiffly behind the podium. Stiles grinned at her, still chewing his sugary pastry.

"As you all know, we've been having difficulty securing the funds necessary to remain a private institution," Principal Argent continued. "Discussion with the Superintendent has determined that the only solution, unfortunately, is to merge with Beacon Hills High School."

"Come on, public school?" Bobby Finnstock, the Academy's... quirky... ballet instructor cried. "I just managed to escape the throes of those uncultured swine!" A general, albeit more tactful, murmur of agreement came from the rest of the staff.

"I understand that this will be a difficult transition. The Principal of Beacon Hills High and I will be meeting over the Winter Break to give our recommendations on which instructors will be most suited to continue serving Beacon Hills County's students after the merger. For some of you," she looked directly at Stiles with a single brow arched menacingly, "it may be time to consider other options. I am sorry to announce this so close to the holidays, but there is nothing left to be done about it. Classes will resume in January at the Beacon Hills High School campus. I will contact you all individually regarding your status as we progress."

Stiles sat, stunned, a bit of donut sitting unchewed in his open mouth. He shot up as the meeting was dismissed, following after Principal Argent.

"Victoria! Could I have a minute?" Stiles asked with his most charming smile.

"Not now, Stiles," Victoria replied, sweeping off towards her office with a flurry of staff members in tow. Stiles kept up with her at a trot, wondering how the hell she managed that pace in a pencil skirt.

"I just need a minute, really. Just two seconds," he wheedled, clasping his hands together.

"Fine," she snapped, opening the door to her office. "Get inside, then." She slammed the door closed after them, despite the protests of other instructors on the other side. Then the redhead crossed the room to slump into the seat at her desk. "Sit."

"Victoria," Stiles began, taking a visitor's chair, "Vicky. Can I call you Vicky?" At her cross expression, he gulped. "Nevermind. Disregard. All I want to know, is what do I need to do to keep my job? I mean, look at me." He gestured at himself: his unkempt hair styled up in every direction, red bow tie, fitted purple plaid button-up, gray slacks, and brown Oxfords labelled him firmly in the category of "a real character". "What else can I do that lets me really express who I am, while inspiring the impressionable minds of weird artsy teenagers?"

"Stiles, you teach Chorus," Victoria replied, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Literally every school has a Chorus teacher."

"Great!" Stiles replied enthusiastically. "Then I shouldn't have to worry, am I right?" He winked at her, eyes crinkling.

"Beacon Hills High already has a Chorus teacher," Victoria stated as she shuffled some papers into a loose stack on her desk. "Derek Hale. And from what I hear, he's got the voice of an angel--and the discipline of a monk. I wish I could say the same about my staff." Stiles gave his best affronted expression. "You'd have to do something very impressive, Mr. Stilinski, to outshine Mr. Hale."

"Fine!" Stiles cried, sitting forward in excitement. "I will! Beacon Hills Arts Academy is going to host a Christmas Carol Competition with Beacon Hills High School, and see once and for all who is the better man! I mean, who... inspires the children to... you know what I mean."

"Alright, Stiles. That would be a budgeting nightmare, but frankly I don't care anymore," Principal Argent said, waving a hand at him. "Just get out. And tell those idiots outside to make an appointment with the front office."

Stiles stood, plans rushing around his head as he left her office. He had a competition to plan, and a job to keep!

\---

With only two weeks left until the Winter Break began, Stiles began his planning immediately. First things first, he sat down to his work computer and pulled up a blank email.

'Dear Mr. Hale,' Stiles typed. 'I would like to extend an invitation to you and your class to enter Beacon Hills Arts Academy's Christmas Carol Competition. The competition will take place on the final day of classes, December 12, and will feature other aspects of our performance arts academy such as a ballet showcase.'

"Yeah, that sounds good," Stiles muttered under his breath. He was sure the other instructors would be willing to contribute after he revealed to them his plan.

'We hope to meet you in a friendly local competition, and hope that this will be the perfect platform to relay the merger of our two music departments as one. Our good sportsmanship will pave the road to a brighter future together. Most sincerely, Stiles Stilinski, D.M.A.'

"A little heavy-handed with that last bit," Stiles observed, tapping his fingers along his keys without striking any of them. "Ah, screw it." He hit send then pushed away from his desk to go track down the other department heads.

This Christmas Carol Competition was going to blow Derek Hale out of the water.  
\---  
With the bids secured from his fellow instructors, and a terse reply from Derek Hale himself, Stiles was over the moon. His Chorus classes had been working after (and sometimes even during) school to finish painting elaborate back-drops and accent décor. His favorite students, Allison Argent and Lydia Martin, in particular had spear-headed the design team.

“Jackson, have you ever seen a blue snowflake?” Lydia demanded, grabbing his brush mid-stroke. As the pretty blonde opened his mouth to reply, she interrupted him—“No! Paint it over white!”

Stiles sighed in contentment, gazing over the rest of his crew. To his surprise, many of the school’s non-Chorus members had also been putting in time to help decorate. He thought of it as a sort of “last hoorah” for many of them. (In point of fact, most of them thought of “Dr. Stiles” as their school’s dorky mascot, and just wanted him to have a nice night.)

“Say, guys, let’s rehearse a bit while we paint. We’ll treat our helpers to a bit of Christmas magic. ‘Oh Holy Night’, from the top.” Stiles set the metronome and counted down quietly. 

The rise of voices around him brought him a warm sense of comfort and pride. Stiles knew that all of this could end, very soon, if this competition wasn’t absolutely spectacular. He listened to the swell of voices as he doodled out an asymmetrical snowflake. And then he noticed something…different.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise as he glanced around the room. There, by Allison, was her boyfriend-slash-adorable puppy dog Scott McCall. Scott was singing along, his voice distinct as he sang in Spanish. Stiles, stunned, stood abruptly and almost knocked his water cup onto the panel he’d been painting seconds before.

“You!” he shouted, pointing at Scott as he advanced. “You’re singing!”

“Oh, sorry,” Scott replied sheepishly. “I guess I shouldn’t sing along when you guys are practicing.”

“No!” Stiles protested eagerly. “Do it again!”

Scott complied, his face growing more and more bewildered and concerned as Dr. Stiles began cackling at increasingly loud volume until the song ended.

\---

Twenty minutes before the beginning of the Beacon Hills Arts Academy’s inaugural Christmas Carol Competition, Stiles Stilinski paced just behind the red curtain. He had planned everything to the minute, coordinated with the various departments, and rehearsed with his beloved Chorus.

Now all that was left was to meet the opposing team, and for the show to begin. He peeked through the curtains, checking that his Dad, the Beacon County Sheriff, was sitting in his reserved spot in the front row. His father and Scott McCall’s mother, the school nurse Melissa, looked deep in conversation.

“Full house?” The voice startled him away from the crack in the curtains.

“Good God,” Stiles gasped, panting as he bent in half. “Make some noise when you sneak up on people.”

“Sorry,” the voice replied. “Can I help you up?”

“I’m good,” Stiles said, waving off the offer and righting himself. “This area’s for performers only, are you lo—“ The words left him as he took in the figure before him fully. The man was dark haired and green eyed, with a light beard that looked almost soft. This was all atop a body that the well-cut, dark blue suit he wore couldn’t hide. “Um.”

“I’m Derek Hale,” the man replied, offering a hand to shake. “You must be Dr. Stilinski.”

“Yeah, that’s, I’m him,” Stiles replied, gulping. “Nice to meet you?”

“Don’t be so sure,” Derek said, smiling lightly. “I’m fighting for my job, in case you didn’t realize. Principal Argent really pleaded your case to the Superintendent.” Stiles was a little stunned by this news, hoping it didn’t’ show in his face.

“Wow, I...didn't realize that. Well, I’ve never sang in the Rockefeller Center like some people I might mention, so I’d say we’re about even,” Stiles shrugged, realizing too late that he'd revealed his 'background research' into 'the enemy.' Derek’s cheeks flushed prettily.

“Touche,” Derek replied softly. “Good luck, tonight,” he threw over his shoulder, as he wandered off towards the opposite side-stage.

“You, too,” Stiles called, turning back to his own team. This was it. Time to begin!

\---

“Good evening, patrons of the arts! I would like to thank you on behalf of the Beacon Hills Arts Academy for attending tonight’s first ever Christmas Carol Competition!” Stiles’s announcement was met with a hail of applause. “Unfortunately, as most of you know, it will also be our last time hosting this event, as we will be merging with Beacon Hills High School in January.” Some booing was heard from the crowd. “Yeah, I know, it sucks.

“But without further ado… Our first showcase of the night will be from our very own ballet company, performing a segment of The Nutcracker, accompanied by our symphonic band. Here is ‘The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies.’” With a sweeping gesture, he exited the stage and the curtain raised on their first act.

Stiles watched the dancers from the sidelines, then cast his eyes across the crowd of parents, family, friends—their community. He thought sadly about the school doors closing, about losing moments like these in the future. 

Following the ballet troupe were art students doing a speed-painting demonstration by illustrating Beacon Hills from the top of the cliff out in the Preserve commonly referred to as “Make Out Point”. Then the drama students put on their interpretation of ‘A Christmas Carol’, with the Scrooge-like character taking on a disturbing likeness to the Superintendent himself…

“Haha, what a riot,” Stiles commented after the performance. “That was, of course, a student-created and directed production. We like to let our students exercise their creativity wherever it leads them. Anyway, we’ve come to the last section of our show for you tonight. Beacon Hills Arts Academy and Beacon Hills High School have agreed to participate in a friendly competition for Best Christmas Caroling.

“But before we start the show, I hope you’ll indulge me. At Beacon Hills Arts Academy, we’re a family. Some of the props and backgrounds you’ve seen tonight were painted by the Chess Club, or the boy’s lacrosse team players. I can’t express my gratitude and appreciation for these young people who made tonight possible.”

Stiles choked up a bit at this, before clearing his throat. “Thank you all. I hope that you’ve learned as much from me as I have from you.”

“Now, please welcome the Beacon Hills High School Chorus and band for their renditions of ‘White Christmas,’ ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing,’ and ‘Silent Night.’” Stiles swept off the stage quickly, passing the handsome Derek Hale with a smile.

Watching him conduct was entrancing. The man commanded attention, his baton waving freely sometimes, while the sharp flick of his wrist brought a crash of sound. Stiles found himself grudgingly impressed. It didn’t hurt that the man was devastatingly attractive. His Chorus would probably win solely based on the way his slacks cupped his ass so perfectly.

Derek’s Chorus hit every note with ruthless precision; they paused together, sang together, stopped together. They were a well-oiled, dream-murdering machine. Stiles could see his job slipping from his grasp as he watched the final song. Grinning ruefully, he turned to his own Chorus. They had been watching from the sidelines, their faces left a mixture of anxiety and sorrow.

“Come on, guys,” Stiles said, rallying, “We got this. Line up once they clear the stage, watch my hands, and then hit them with the big finish. I’m so proud of you all. I love you guys.” 

Lydia, surprising them all, rushed forward to pull him into a hug just as Stiles heard his cue for their introduction. His Chorus filed in behind him as he took the podium one last time.

“And the final set before we hear the judges’ determination is my own Beacon Hills Arts Academy Chorus. We will be accompanied tonight by the school’s Wind Ensemble. Our selections are ‘It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,’ ‘What Child is This?’, and ‘Oh Holy Night.’”

Stiles’ hands flew with the music, leading the Chorus with each crescendo and quieting them with each diminuendo. He held no baton, but let his hands conduct solely. He coaxed his sopranos into a sweet melody, built the tenors and baritones into a firm foundation for his altos to soar over. He lost himself to the song, to their joined voices, until they reached their final piece.

Stiles smiled, gesturing forward his soloist. Scott McCall, smiling dopily and blushing brightly, stepped forward to begin the song with a surprisingly bright, clear voice, unaccompanied. He sang, eyes closed, until he was joined by the band and Chorus. The second stanza was quiet and powerful, with Scott’s voice still overlaid.

Stiles, blinking away the emotion, led them to a swelling crescendo, the false high point—immediately following with their climactic note. The song slowed, stripped to just Scott’s voice ringing out the final notes. Stiles’s hands came to rest by his side as he stared at his Chorus in shocked awe.

Thundering applause from the crowd startled him into turning around and leading his Chorus into a courteous bow. They all cleared off the stage, joyous smiles lighting up their faces.

After a few moments of deliberation, the judges made their way onto the stage. All three were local business owners, with no real qualifications except a passing interest and love of the subject. For a friendly local competition, they did well enough. Veterinarian Alan Deaton had been chosen as their speaker.

“I’m very pleased to inform you all tonight that the winner of tonight’s Christmas Chorus Competition… is Beacon Hills Arts Academy!”

“Yes!” Stiles cried, grabbing his closest students into a bear hug. “Go, Scott! You did it buddy!” He gave him a friendly noogie, messing up his dark hair spectacularly. Allison and Lydia flanked him, giving him a kiss on the cheek each. After the wave of applause, the crowd started to wander towards the stage. He let his kids free to meet with the families, and watched as many of them walked over to talk to their soon-to-be peers from Beacon Hills High School. Stiles followed their lead.

“You did a fantastic job tonight,” Stiles said, approaching Derek who was turned away from him. The other man turned to accept the praise.

“Thank you. It was a pleasure to watch you—your chorus—perform,” Derek replied with a half-smile.

“Same to you,” Stiles teased. “You really know your way around a baton.” He immediately flushed at his own double entendre.

“Do you?” Derek asked, quirking an eyebrow. Stiles blinked at him, assessing. Oh, what the hell.

“You know it,” Stiles replied, stepping forward. “Would you like a private demonstration?” He grinned, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“I’d like that,” Derek replied, flushed. “Maybe I could take you out to dinner sometime?” He pulled at his collar, eyes flitting around the stage.

“I’m hungry right now,” Stiles replied, hands on his hips. Derek nodded with a helpless smile.

\---

“Derek,” Stiles muttered. “Derek, wake up. It’s Christmas!”

“What?” Derek grumbled, lifting his head from the pillow and rolling over in Stiles’s arms. “I’m sleeping. Shh.” He closed his kaleidoscope eyes, scrunching his face into a pout and trying to tuck it under Stiles’s chin.

“It’s Christmas, and Victoria Argent just told me I’m keeping my job,” Stiles reiterated. “The Academy got an anonymous benefactor! We don’t have to merge schools after all!”

“That’s great,” Derek replied, yawning. “Fucking Peter.”

“I might consider it, if he was the one who donated,” Stiles said, laughing as Derek bit his Adam’s apple in reply.

“No,” Derek objected. “Mine.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed, wrapping his arms more tightly around his Derek. “Just think, now you don’t have to look for another job.”

“Wha—it would’ve been me they chose!” Derek said. Stiles could feel his frowny brows against the skin of his neck.

“Just keep telling yourself that, babe,” Stiles replied, eyes drifting closed in contentment. Derek continued to grumble, and shoved his cold feet against the back of Stiles’s calves in retaliation.

“I want a rematch,” Derek declared. “Next year. Another competition. And this time you won’t have Scott McCall around to look like a damn kicked puppy and pull the win out of his ass.”

“Aww, you love Scott,” Stiles mumbled. “Go to sleep now.” Derek harrumphed mightily, but did.


End file.
